


Bless the Broken Road

by impliedcomplications



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Abuse, M/M, Violence, biker!AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3792190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impliedcomplications/pseuds/impliedcomplications
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins lead a respectable life painting signs and the occasional chopper until an eccentric Wizard came along with a group of Dwarrow thugs on their way to the Esgaroth rally. Among them is a recovering drug addict-- their leader, Thorin Oakenshield. He may have started as a tag along, but Mr. Baggins becomes so much more than that. Bilbo may or may not have joined a biker gang on accident. Send help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Morning Indeed

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [ForeverFantasy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Foreverfantasy/pseuds/Foreverfantasy)

It was a good morning, Bilbo Baggins thought. This morning he felt good and it was a morning that ought to inspire goodness in others. He wished all those who passed by his garage a good morning. The sun was bright and warm, the flowers were blooming, and it was absolutely a good morning. The only thing that could make it better would be a bit of business. 

Bilbo sighed and leaned back against the counter that served as the front desk of his small painting business. It wasn't that the hobbit's work was undesirable. Indeed, the lovely letters painstakingly scrawled across the front window reading 'Bag End Artisanal Signage' was proof enough of his skills and steady hand. Life simply moved at a slower pace in Hobbiton. Occasionally commissions came in from Bree and there were touch-ups on old work to be done here and there in town, but that was barely enough to keep him afloat. In all honesty, Bilbo had considered taking his business elsewhere, but the charm of the place and the overwhelming feeling of belonging kept him firmly rooted in the Shire. There were other benefits to staying put, of course. This time of year the blue skies, colorful gardens, and rolling green hills brought the occasional biker through Hobbiton and that meant an increase in business. It was a well-known fact in those parts that Bilbo Baggins was personally responsible for the meticulous paint work on a few of the bikes that came through town. 

It had started with a friend. Well, his mother's friend. Gandalf was more of an acquaintance as far as Bilbo was concerned. The peculiar man had inquired about the colorful mini chopper that sat parked in front of the shop. Vines of gold leaf swirled over the gas tank and fenders and through delicate gardens of roses and daisies painted on an emerald background. A gold rose was stitched with care into the chocolate brown leather saddle. Bilbo had remarked rather casually that yes, he had done the paint job himself and that no, he was not taking commissions. 

“Come now, Bilbo. It would be good for business!” Gandalf had said.

Bilbo had politely insisted that he had no interest in putting his work into another bike. That had, of course, meant that he had no intention of having his art associated with some eccentric wizard with a habit of making young lads and lasses disappear. He was a respectable hobbit, after all, and there was no need to tarnish his reputation so. 

It had seemed that Gandalf was content to let the subject dropped and remarked for what Bilbo thought was the last time that it was a rather lovely bike. Bilbo was not a pompous hobbit, but he couldn't deny that his handiwork was delightful to look at. They had moved on to other topics, chatted about the weather, and discussed the recent courtship of his cousin. But several cups of tea and a few negotiations later, Bilbo had agreed to do some work on the gas tank of Gandalf's own bobber for a modest fee. As Gandalf went about his business (whatever that was) throughout Middle Earth, so did Bilbo's art. Strange folk from all walks of life began coming through the Shire every summer asking for Mr. Bilbo Baggins. The aesthetics of some of the big folk were admittedly odd (who would want to see a skull smiling at them from a back fender?), but he did what he could and was happy to make a bit of money from it when his usual business was slow.

Today, however, there were no bikers and no patrons looking for signage. The hobbit sighed and began walking toward the door at the back of the shop that lead into his living spaces. He had baking he rather wanted to get done and it seemed that today would be the day to do it. Had he gone out to get those raspberries from the market? He couldn't remember. A low rumble broke his train of thought and a familiar voice called out to him. “Bilbo! Just the man I was looking for! Come out here and let me bum a cigarette off out you. I've got business for you.”

Bilbo hustled over to the front of the shop and hurried out the door, searching his pockets for a box of clove cigarettes the whole way. He pulled them out along with a light as Gandalf swung his leg over his bike and kicked down the stand. The man wasn't necessarily a frequent visitor to Bag End, but he always managed to get gums around Hobbiton flapping whenever he arrived. He was a peculiar looking old man, always donning faded and torn jeans, an old t-shirt, and a black leather vest. Upon his head sat a wide-brimmed hat similar to the ones Bilbo had seen farmer Maggot wear when he went out on his pony to move cattle from one pasture to another. And the tattoos. Goodness did that man have a preposterous amount of ink-- full sleeves and a hodge podge of images strewn across his back and chest. His bike was a piece of work, too. The grey beast sat parked next to Bilbo's floral masterpiece, swirling smoke airbrushed with care on the gas tank and silvery script glinted in silver leaf down the frame and fenders. The work on the tank had been Bilbo's doing and he had no clue what the silver symbols meant (although he had always wanted to ask). The bike was as old as the man himself, it seemed, but by some kind of magic the man was able to keep it looking pristine. “Good morning!” Bilbo greeted the wizard with a smile and handed at cigarette to him. The lighter followed suit and soon they were both sitting outside the shop blowing smoke rings into the air.

“You said you had business for me?” Bilbo inquired. “I must say it wouldn't be entirely unwelcome.”

Gandalf stared out into the street thoughtfully before responding. “I assume you know about Esgaroth?”

“The town or the rally?”

“Both. Have you considered going this year? It would be good for business. Good for you personally, too, if I might say.”

Bilbo was mortified. “Me? Go to Esgaroth? You know that whole place is full of low-lives and thugs, right? No offense.” Bilbo added, knowing of Gandalf's eccentric taste in past times. 

Gandalf did not seem to take any issue with the comment and continued with a laugh, “My good hobbit! That's all the proof I need that this little trip I have in mind would be good for you. You need to get out more, Mr. Baggins! See the world!”

“Absolutely not!” Bilbo stood. “I'd like to retain what respectability and dignity I have and have no venturing out of the Shire any time soon! Who would watch the shop?”

“The shop that isn't getting any business?”

Bilbo looked sternly at the wizard. “Listen, if you aren't here to commission anything, then I suggest you leave. No Baggins will be going on some silly trip to Esgaroth-- or anywhere else for that matter! Good morning, sir!” With that Bilbo scurried back into the shop and flipped the bright green “open” sign to “closed” before scuttling back to his living quarters.

Outside, Gandalf stood smirking at the door where the closed sign still swung gently behind the glass. The end of his cigarette occasionally flared to life between his lips as he shook his head. Bilbo had disappeared into the back of the building, but if he had been listening closely, he would have heard the sound of a key scraping against the shiny glass of the shop door. He would rouse the Took in that little hobbit, even if he had to drag him kicking and screaming from Bag End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me on Tumblr. I'm Inqueersitor-Oakenshield!


	2. The Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo thought he was going to have a quiet night in. He really ought to have known better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this was beta'd by the lovely ForeverFantasy.
> 
> I never thought this would gain the readership it did so quickly and I thank you all for your comment and well wishes!
> 
> Constructive criticism and comments are appreciated.

The following day had not been much more pleasant for Bilbo despite the distinct lack of a wizard at the front of his shop. There had been no customers and the dark skies that threatened rain kept the motorcycles off the road. His own bike had been carted over to the little tin shed that served as a garage in weather like this. To top it all off, some hooligan had scratched the front of his door. The nerve! He had just had the glass entrance put in a week ago and now he would need to have it done again. He sat in his sitting room at the end of the day, hand wrapped around a mug of tea, just behind the door separating his shop from this home hoping that the following day would see a change in his luck. In the distance he could hear the faint roar of an engine through the soft patter of the rain against his roof. Who would be out riding in this weather? Who would be out riding in this part of Hobbiton in this weather at this hour? Who in _Yavanna's name_ would be out riding in this weather so damn close to his home? The thundering sound of the engine was cut off and was followed shortly by loud banging against the door of Bilbo's shop.

Bilbo rose and stomped out of his sitting room. “We're closed!” he hollered before looking at the source of the offending noise. Upon locking eyes with the stranger, he immediately regretted the outburst. The dwarf that stood scowling in the rain was terrifying. His head was shaved and covered with a green bandana. Thick, black criss-crossing lines of ink peaked out from under the covering. Lines of frustration seemed to be permanently etched into his brow. A reasonable sized beard streaked with gray sat upon his face and Bilbo could tell that his leather jacket hid well-muscled arms. This most definitely was not one of his clients from Bree.

“Plan on opening the door, lad?” The dwarf's voice was gruff and sent a slight tremor of fear through Bilbo. Slowly he slunk up to the door and unlatched it. The imposing figure swung the door open and stomped in, tracking mud across the shiny tile floor. “Bout time,” he grumbled. “Dwalin, at your service. Am I the first to arrive, then?”

Bilbo hurried alongside him. “S-sorry, sir. I'm afraid I've closed up for the evening. Did you say the first to arrive? You must be mistaken. If you look here,” Bilbo pointed to the small sign with the shops hours printed neatly on it, “you'll find that-”

“Aye, the wizard said to come after business hours. The mark on the door says you're the man we're looking for. Got anything to eat 'round here?” The dwarf stomped around the shop, peaking in desk drawers and inside cabinets.

Bilbo's mouth opened, but no sound came out. His brain floundered to find a response or some kind of means to handle this kind of situation. True, his mother had always taught him to be a kind host, but how does one play host to a dwarf that has just barged in and is making quick work of dirtying his floors. “Kitchen,” he blurted out. “There's some food in the back here, in the kitchen. Right through here.” He wasn't sure what had possessed him to do it, but Bilbo now lead the stranger through to the sitting area. 

He had barely cracked open the door when another, thankfully softer, knock tapped on the shop window. Bilbo shoved Dwalin through the door, “I'll be right with you. Cake's on the table.” The Hobbit slammed the door and spun to face his new guest. Another dwarf stood in the rain, smiling at him from under an umbrella. This one was older than the first with a long white beard that reached to his chest. A scarlet flannel shirt was buttoned up beneath a leather vest. Bilbo opened the door for him and the dwarf closed his umbrella before entering. Thankfully, this one wiped his travel-worn boots on the mat before coming in. 

“Balin, at your service!” He bowed low.

This time Bilbo managed to must up a quick, “And Bilbo Baggins at yours!” before moving out of his way. 

“I see my brother made it here before me!” Said Balin, noting the muddy bootprints leading toward the back of the store. “The boy never learned his manners. Might I have a beer if you've got some? I've been on the road for quite a while. Sitting for that long does a number on these old bones.”

Bilbo nodded mutely, still unsure of what exactly was going on, and lead Balin to his living area. As soon as the door opened, Dwalin gave a shout. “Brother!” The two embraced. “The road has treated you well, then?”

Another knock sounded through the building and Bilbo left the brothers to discuss their travels. This time a pair of dwarves much younger than the two already inside stood at his door. The face of the first was darkened by stubble. A deep blue hoodie poked out from his black leather jacket and his long brown hair brushed his shoulders. At his side stood a blond Dwarrow with a neatly trimmed beard. A t-shirt colored similarly to the brunette's hoodie peaked out from under his jacket. Both men wore slim fitting jeans full of tears. Bilbo could never figure out why kids felt the need to tear perfectly good trousers. As he opened the door, the two bowed low just as Balin had. “Fili!” cried the blond.

“And Kili!” added the other.

“At your service!” came the greeting in unison.

“And Bilbo Baggins at yours and your family's!” Bilbo replied, finally getting a hold of his manners. The two hurried past him and into the store, following the tracks the others had left. The back of their jackets featured an embroidered mountain behind crossed axes and strange symbols Bilbo took to be Khuzdul. Across the shoulders it read “The Company” in Westron. He scurried along behind the boys, stopping short to gaze in horror as they opened the door. Dwalin and Balin had begun setting up an array of food on the kitchen counters. Surely all the food in his pantry must be on it's way out to the kitchen by now. As another series of knocks sounded on the door, Bilbo noticed that Dwalin and Balin's leather bore the same imagery as Fili and Kili's. His stomach dropped. This was a gang. A real biker gang. In his home. The knocking persisted, growing louder by the second.

Bilbo paused, uncomfortably glancing between the men in his living room and the wet dwarves at his door. A group of five stood outside impatiently. In the front stood three dwarves that bore a resemblance to each other. The eldest was dressed in full leathers with a purple bandana fitted around his neck. His hair was gray and braided elaborately about his head. Beside him was a brown haired fellow dressed in a duster. His hair was kept up in a peculiar triangular fashion. Similar to the older dwarf, this one also wore a purple bandana over his face. The youngest of the three looked rather nervous. He wore a clean grey shirt beneath a leather jacket. Instead of a bandana, he wore a huge knit scarf over his face. A gray backpack was strapped to his back and he took great care to keep it dry with his umbrella.

The duster dwarf opened the door himself (hadn't Bilbo locked it?). The older one gave him a sharp jab in the side with his elbow before straightening up. “Dori, Nori, and Ori at your service!” he proclaimed, pointing to himself and his respective companions before the three of them bowed low.

“Bilbo Baggins at yours...” The dwarves seemed to pay no mind to his less than enthusiastic response as they barged passed him, allowing the two brothers behind them to step forward.

A fiery red mass of hair approached the Hobbit and loomed over him. His black and white flannel shirt was tucked into jeans. A large silver buckle held this belt in place. His jacket was similar to Dwalin's, although it was not so weather worn. “I,” he said, “am Gloin. And this is my brother Oin.”

 _What a peculiar naming convention these people have_ , thought Bilbo as he looked to the second Dwarf. This one had a hearing aid visible on his right ear. His beard was braided just as elaborately as Gloin's, however it was silver in color. His arms were crossed in his brown tinted jacket. Both dwarves bowed before entering. 

“Are you quite sure you're little party is at the right place? I mean, this is hardly the place for--”

Oin cut Bilbo off, “What's that my boy? Can't hear ye. Going to have to speak up, I'm afraid.”

Bilbo did not have time to respond before the next set of dwarves were on his doorstep. Behind them-- oh Bilbo was livid, now-- behind them stood that blasted wizard with a smile as broad as the South Farthing. The wizard shuffled his way to the front of the group and pushed the door open. “Bilbo!” The hobbit's name came out as a chuckle. “You've got quite the line of bikes on your street!”

“You!” Bilbo shook a finger at him, approaching him in a fashion that could possibly have been called intimidating had he not been lacking in height. “I told you, I would have none of this--”

“Now, Bilbo, that's no way to greet guests! What would your mother say? Now allow me to introduce to you Bofur, his brother Bombur, and their cousin Bifur.” The wizard gestured to the trio of peculiar looking Dwarves. Bofur looked more like an aviator than biker, donning the traditional jacket, gloves, and a silly hat with yellow goggles perched on top. Bombur was, in a word, huge. A white shirt was held up by pale green suspenders that stretched over his massive stomach. Bilbo's mind traveled briefly to his pantry and was filled with a sudden dread. Lastly, Bilbo looked at Bifur. Was that--? It was; lodged in his head was a broken bit of a beer bottle. This one bowed low with the others, but did not offer any service to Bilbo as Bofur and Bombur did.

Gandalf ushered the group in and attempted to converse with Bilbo on their way back to his home. “Quite a merry little gathering, don't you think?”

“Little? Gandalf, you've invited a group of... of...” his voice died down, “thugs... into my home.”

“My good hobbit!” the wizard exclaimed, “I'll have you know that these fellows are all respectable individuals who all have a shared interest in motorized bicycles.”

“They're a _gang_.” Bilbo hissed.

“A collective group of enthusiasts.” The voice of one of the newcomers piped up. It was the one with the silly hat: Bofur. The dwarf grinned and winked at the Hobbit. 

Bilbo's face burned bright red. “I didn't mean to imply that--! That is to say—! Oh...” His voice trailed off as Gandalf opened the door to their destination. dwarves were hustling about in all directions, bringing food and plates and drink from all corners of the Baggins residence. “No. No no no no no. Put that back!” Bilbo rushed to grab a plate from Fili's hands, but could not quite reach it in time. It had been tossed across the room to his brother who caught and laughed before setting it on the table gently.

“No need to worry, Mr. Boggins! We'll get dinner squared away, don't you worry!”

The rest of The Company offered up hearty cheers that drained all the color from Bilbo's face. “I need to sit down,” he said, slumping over in the nearest armchair. “Why are they here, Gandalf?”

“All in good time,” the wizard answered. “We're still missing one.”

“Lovely. Wonderful,” Bilbo muttered, resting his head in his hands. It would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me on Tumblr. I'm Inqueersitor-Oakenshield!


	3. A Business Venture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look who's finally done getting lost in the Shire...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was edited by the boyfriend because he was the closest person to me. My bae reads my gay fanfiction. Wuddup.

_They'll take care of dinner_ , Bilbo thought bitterly to himself. A good deal of cheering and hollering came from his dining area. Songs were being sung at an absurdly loud volume and Bilbo was sure that the authorities would be by at any moment for a noise complaint. That just wouldn't do. He had never once had the authorities on his property. In fact, nobody in Hobbiton had ever had such trouble. Perhaps that kind of thing happened in Buckland. Certainly it was a problem in Bree. But never Hobbiton. The hobbit was making a mental note of all the ways things could possibly go wrong when he felt the cushion next to him sink down.

“ 'Scuse me, Mr. Baggins.” The voice came from a young ginger dwarf. The name was Ori, wasn't it? “Where would you like me to put my plate?” He scarf was still wrapped around his neck and he fidgeted awkwardly with the empty plate in his hands.

Bilbo smiled gently at the man. This one didn't seem to belong with the others. He was a bit softer around the edges (and in the middle, Bilbo noted pleasantly). “The kitchen sink will do, I suppose.”

“Did ya hear that, boys?” Bofur yelled from his seat. “In the sink with your dishes!”

The cry of horror did not have time to get out of Bilbo's mouth before each and every dwarf (minus little Ori) began tossing their dishes in every direction. Gandalf's booming laugh sounded over the seemingly mindless flight of dishware across the room. Bilbo hustled to and fro stammering out, “Oh no, please that's an antique! No, no, no! You'll chip it!” His frantic bustling about seemed to make them move all the faster and toss all the harder. There was no conceivable way he would make it through the evening without a heart attack. He stopped when he felt a firm hand on his arm. Peering at him sympathetically was Balin, the brother of Dwalin.

“Don't worry your head, laddie. It's just a bit of fun.” 

“ _Fun_?” Bilbo shook under the slight pressure of the dwarf's hand, half out of fury and half out of fear for the safety of his plates. Despite his reservations, Bilbo stayed in his place, watching in silent horror as flashes of white made their way by some miracle to the sink. In due time, all dishes, cutlery, and glassware had found a place in a neat pile in his kitchen sink. Bombur stood before the stack, smiling and chuckling merrily at Bilbo, who stood clutching at his heart for fear he might fall over at any minute. Gandalf sat doubled over with laugher in his sitting room. In fact, everyone but Bilbo seemed to be laughing and enjoying themselves. Laughter was all well and good but this kind of foolishness simply would not do. The sooner he was able to get everybody out of his house, the better. 

Bilbo was just about ready to shoo everybody out when all went quiet save for the sound of a low rumble from outside of the shop. The engine stopped and was followed by three rather loud knocks on the shop's door. Gandalf looked at Bilbo and nodded. “Go on; that'll be Thorin.”

When Bilbo hesitated, the wizard shoved him out of the door and into the shop. Standing outside in the rain stood the dwarf everybody had been waiting for. His long black hair bore streaks of gray and was clinging to his face. Piercing blue eyes stared at him from behind the glass. Ink crept up his shoulders and neck from under the collar of his blue t-shirt and onto his hands from beneath the sleeves of his jacket. His dark blue jeans were covered in part by black leather chaps. He was terrifying and Bilbo wanted to shrink away into nothingness under his scrutinizing gaze. He said nothing as the hobbit approached the door, instead choosing to size him up. It wasn't until the door was open and he stood inside the shop, wringing out his hair onto the floor that he spoke. “You're the hobbit, then?”

Bilbo shrugged. “I suppose so.”

Thorin grunted and brushed past him, heading in the direction he saw the hobbit come from. Bilbo hurried after him, wincing at the immediate cheers that broke out at his presence. It was Dwalin that stood up first to meet the newcomer at the door. They embraced and sat together at the table.

“Bilbo, allow me to introduce Thorin “Oakenshield” Durin, the leader of The Company. You're late, old friend,” Gandalf said, glancing at the newcomer.

“No thanks to you. Could have made you mark a bit easier to see. Got lost twice.” Bilbo avoided eye contact with the dwarf, feeling uncomfortable under his icy, scrutinizing gaze. Thorin spoke again, his words dripping with criticism. “This is the hobbit you chose for us? Some weekend warrior type? Kind of guy who thinks a ride to the grocery store is some kind of adventure? I won't take him, Gandalf. This isn't some kind of little field trip; this is a business venture.”

 “A business venture? Gandalf, you realize that I already own a business, right? In fact it's right through the door there...”

The wizard laughed. “And it's not doing well. Thorin's proposal--”

“Is no longer an option,” Thorin cut in.

“He's experienced and he's good at what he does. If I say he's who you need, then that's who you'll need.” Gandalf frowned at the biker from under his hat. Bilbo had never known Gandalf to be particularly threatening but now Bilbo felt the need to slink away from him. “You'll find none better and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by just what a hobbit can do.”

“How exactly am I relevant to some gang's business plans?”

“Collective group of enthusiasts,” Bofur blurted out. Bilbo shot him a look and Thorin glared at both of them in equal measure.

“We are a family,” Thorin said. “A family that is in need of a home." 

“What do you know about the Esgaroth rally, laddie?” Balin asked.

“Not much,” Bilbo admitted. “Lots of bikes. Lots of noise. Lots of... _collective groups of enthusiasts._ ”

 “Did you know it was a group of dwarves that started it?” Bilbo shook his head. “Indeed it was. Thorin's grandfather was personally responsible, in fact. It started as a bit of a marketing ploy to get more patrons in The Lonely Mountain Pub.” Bilbo looked at him quizically. “Thror's wee bar at the top of Erebor. Not many people traveled to the top of the mountain in those days so Thror came up with a wee bit of a plan. Invited people to do some hill climbs to get to the top of Erebor. There were cash prizes... free beer...” Balin's voice trailed off as he faded in nostalgia. “King of the Lonely Mountain, they called Thror. The whole festival expanded and flowed over into Esgaroth. Those were good days.”

 “What happened? Are the days no longer all that good?” Bilbo asked.

 “The bar burned down,” Thorin did not allow Balin the chance to answer for himself. “The place we called home burned to the ground, we left, and now we'd like to go back.”

“So why haven't you?” Bilbo felt as though he was missing something.

“You see, laddie,” Dwalin spoke from his corner of the table, “The line of Durin got into a bit of trouble with the people of Esgaroth when Thror was an old Dwarrow. To keep a very long story very short, Durin's folk are no longer wanted in Esgaroth. At least they weren't. Things seem to have blown over now and we're thinking it's safe to go back.”

Bilbo remained quiet for a moment, pondering the information he had just received. “So how do I fit into all of this, then? What use would a hobbit be to you on a trip to visit a rally for a week? Not to mention what happens if you're wrong and nobody wants you there. No offense,” he added, looking at Thorin. 

“You won't be there a week,” Thorin said, ignoring his comment. “You'll be there for a year at least.” Bilbo's face faded to white. “We plan on opening the bar and adding a garage to it. This place will be known from Ered Luin to the Iron Hills once again. For too long The Company has traveled earning their keep as a mechanics and tinkerers. There's no pride in that when we came from such great heritage. I'll see The Lonely Mountain Pub and Shop back to it's former glory and Gandalf assures me you are the artist to ask for custom work.”

“Did he?” Bilbo asked, aiming a glare at the wizard who sat across from him. “What's in this for me? I've got a business of my own. I'm doing just fine with income,” he lied. “So why should I follow you?”

“Profit,” Thorin stated simply. “There's more money to be made to the east than there is here. We have paperwork here detailing the sharing of profits and reimbursement for any spending on the road.”

Balin pulled the parchment out from his vest and laid it out before Bilbo. “Take your time, lad. We'd like you to be fully aware of our terms.”

Bilbo began scanning the paper, stopping rather abruptly at an alarming statement that seemed to jump off the page at him. “F-funeral arrangements? You can't be serious,” he stammered. “Surely you can't be planning of fatalities?”

“Nobody _plans_ for _fatalities_ ,” Dwalin said. “But it's a long journey and things... happen.”

“Death,” Bilbo retorted, “is not _things_. Flat tires and running out of gas? Those are things.”

“Don't you worry your head, lad,” Bofur said kindly. “We've got Gandalf riding with us! He's made the trek loads of times before!” The wizard shifted uncomfortably. “You _have_ made this trip before, right?”

“Well... once or twice, really. I'm not sure I'd say I'm a veteran...”

It took mere seconds for the group to voice their dissatisfaction with the wizard's words. It didn't surprise Bilbo in the slightest when fingers started being pointed all about the table. It was Thorin's voice that broke through the din. “Enough!” All was still. “We will ride one way or another. We will get there and we will have our home again. Tell me, hobbit, would you join us or no? We leave in the morning whether you are with us or not.”

“I... I need air,” Bilbo mumbled, getting up from the table and shuffling over to his living room. It was a lot to take in. From the other room he heard the strumming of a few guitars (when had those been brought in?). He peered around the corner to see the black mop of Thorin's head leaning over the obviously well-loved instrument. Gandalf found his way to Bilbo and took a seat next to him.

“You should consider his offer, my friend. You could do something genuinely good for these people. Thorin's been through a lot; he isn't as rough as he makes himself seem. It's up to you, though. Let it sit for a bit.” With that the wizard rose and returned to The Company. The hobbit was lulled to sleep by the gentle melody of the guitar and the faint humming from his dwarven company. That night he dreamed of the open road and bright, shiny bikes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come join me on Tumblr. I'm Inqueersitor-Oakenshield!


	4. A Late Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the bae. I'm so sorry for the wait and I'm willing to bet it will take a while for the next chapter to get out as well. Just hang tight and stay with me!

Upon waking, Bilbo found that his back was rather stiff from falling asleep in his armchair. Despite the dull ache in his spine, he was happy to find that all was quiet in the building. He stretched, allowing his joints to pop and muscles to free themselves of tension. Looking around, he found that there was no sign of any rowdy dwarves having been there at all the previous night. He got up slowly and padded over to his pantry. Ah, there was the proof of thirteen dwarves. The shelves were bare before him and his stomach growled in protest to the lack of food. After a bit of rummaging around, he managed to find enough bread to get a piece of toast out of and a drinkable amount of loose leaf. He set about the kitchen, putting the kettle on and generally going about his morning as though a biker gang had not, in fact, invaded his home the preceding evening.

 

Finally, he sunk down into the nearest chair at his kitchen table with every intention of enjoying his Saturday. Then he saw it. There before him was post-it note stuck behind the spot he had set his toast. The writing on it was barely legible, but after squinting, Bilbo could make out the message:

_Green Dragon. 11AM. B there or we leave w/o U._

_-T & Co._

Bilbo sat staring at the note for a while before turning his gaze to the clock. It read 10 o' clock. Bywater was about fifteen minutes, give or take. If he got things packed quickly and made out at statement for the shop-- His train of thought came to a sudden halt. There was no way he was truly considering going on a road trip with a bunch of thugs. No way. Even if it _was_ better than sitting in an empty shop. Even if he _did_ have a shot at making some money. Even if he secretly _wanted_ to make a trip out to Esgaroth at least once. “Dammit,” the hobbit mumbled into hands which had somehow found their way to his face. All too suddenly Bilbo Baggins found himself ready to go on a trip with a group of strangers and a wizard.

 

If someone had told him that he would be skittering around the house throwing whatever clothes and toiletries he could find into a bag for a for a trip he had never planned for, Bilbo would have laughed in their face. He was a man who liked to think things through and went about his work with an obsurd amount of meticulousness. This haphazard tossing of pants and toothpaste into a saddle bag felt oddly liberating to him. This would be the kind of adventure his mother had told him about-- the kind of traveling she did before she settled down with Bungo. Looking back, Bilbo thought about how upset she would be if she knew he had spent so much time confining himself to the Shire. Now he was going to make up for lost time, though. He was going to be a different, better hobbit who took risks and explored the world and most certainly did not have only ten minutes to get to Bywater. It was a chance glance at the clock that made Bilbo realize that he had taken his sweet time packing up his belongings. The hobbit scurried about to find a scrap of paper and a pen and hastily scribbled out “Closed Indefinitely” across it in bold red ink. The sign was stuck to the door on his way out. He locked up and sprinted to the garage, flinging his bags on the back of his bike before hoping on, backing out, and flying down the road.

 

Guilt washed over the usually respectable hobbit as he proceeded down the 35 mile per hour road at 45. He felt even worse as he sped past the small police station situated near the edge of town and hoped nobody was paying attention to the roads this Saturday morning. Luck was at least on his side in this matter, it seemed, as he made it out of Hobbiton with no problems. The gold leafing on his bike sparkled in the sun as he drew closer to The Green Dragon. It was 11:05 when he finally pulled into the parking lot only to find that not a single bike graced the pavement. He slumped over in his seat, wondering why he even thought this would be a good idea in the first place. Then he heard it-- the faint rumble of engines in the distance. Large groups almost never came through these parts, so the ruckus could only mean one thing. His own little chopper roared to life once more and he shot out of the lot.

 

It didn't take him long to make out the line of shining chrome along the road. At the rear Bilbo could make out Gandalf, his arms raised above him as he held his ape hangers. As he got closer, he saw that Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur rode staggered in front of him. Bofur zipped along in a little yellow streetfighter. Ahead of him, Bombur rode an emerald green trike. And in front of both of them their cousin drove a chopper the was possibly one of the most intricate things Bilbo had ever seen. The front end seemed to go on forever before meeting with a wheel at one end and a golden gas tank. The forks matched the tank in color and Bilbo could see from the way it shimmered in the morning light that little designs were etched into the metal and colored black. The rest of the bike followed in a similar manner, all black and gold and lovingly detailed. Ahead of that trio rode the three brothers Dori, Nori, and Ori. Dori's dark violet touring bike lead the troop. A small side car was attached to it, but it held no passenger. Behind him Nori rode on what could only be a rat bike. The ancient vehicle was held together with various odds and ends and the frame was beginning to tarnish. Ori was trailing behind his brothers on a sport touring bike. The paint work seemed to be a shoddy DIY attempt to cover a color similar to Dori's current bike with silver paint. Bilbo made a mental note to offer some help to the young dwarf when he had the chance. He also noticed that Ori seemed to be the only one donning a helmet. Two more touring bikes sped along in front of them, one brown and one black with Oin and Gloin riding them. Balin rode out in front of Oin on an extremely old, extremely well-kept fire engine red bike. Yet another rat bike followed the remaining three bikes closely. Unlike Nori's, the look of Dwalin's bike seemed more purposeful. Beat up as it was, Bilbo still found it to be rather aesthetically pleasing. At the head of The Company were the Durin boys. Fili and Kili rode beside one another on identical navy blue cruisers. Thorin's bike was something to behold. Silver chrome shone brightly in the sunlight, but that was the only part of the bike that sparkled. The rest of the metal was covered in black leather. Intricate dwarven patterns were tooled and painted onto the gas tank. Bilbo had never seen anything like it before.

 

The leader of the group glanced back and rather suddenly signaled for the rest of the group to pull over. Bilbo saw Gandalf smirk as he rolled past. He killed his engine after pulling up alongside Thorin. “I hope it isn't too late for me to join you,” he said.

 

Thorin simply looked unblinking from him to the rest of The Company. “Get in line. Don't fall back and stay away from the front. We're headed to the Misty Mountains.” Without another word, he kicked is bike to life and started off again. The rest followed suit and when Bofur flagged the hobbit down in passing, Bilbo fell into line behind him and in front of Gandalf. Had he turned around, he would have seen that the wizard was still smirking at him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add this in other chapters, but come join me on Tumblr. I'm Inqueersitor-Oakenshield!


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